Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,51

father interposed.

St. Ryne barely spared Seaverness a glance while his wife glared daggers at him.

“And as for being a shrew,” St. Ryne continued, “may I remind you that you are not the one to live with her, I am; and if I don’t consider her a shrew, then such arguments are a moot point.”

“But, Justin, how can you—”

“Enough.” He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, aware of his own chaotic thoughts and emotions.

He sighed. “I regret my anger; however I now put you on notice. If I hear rumor of any aspersions cast upon my bride by you, you will henceforth be refused admittance to any home of mine.”

“He has got you there, my dear,” the Earl told his wife.

“Hush!” She then turned back to her son, her manner conciliating. St. Ryne eyed her warily.

“How did they do it, Justin?”

“Do what?”

“Force you to marry her. Did they manufacture a compromising position?"

St. Ryne ground his teeth in vexation. “I asked her of my own free will,” he said. “If she had refused me, however, I swear to you now I would have willingly compromised her to have her as my bride!” He flung himself out of his chair to stand by the window, staring with blind eyes out onto the shadowed street below.

The Earl whistled through his teeth. “That is a strong encomium, Alicia,” he said conversationally.

St. Ryne was shaken by the truth of his statement. Bile rose in his throat at the knowledge of his poor treatment toward his bride. Branstoke was correct. She was a paragon, a pearl past price, and he was in danger of so carelessly damaging her lustrous soul. He had to see her, show her his kind side. He wanted to learn to laugh and cry with her, to discover the nature of her hidden sorrows and yank them out by the roots, to love her and maybe someday be loved in return.

He turned to face his parents.

“Justin, I—” began his mother, only to be silenced by a wave of his hand.

“Since my return from Jamaica, I have been a damned fool.” He laughed deprecatingly. “The hot sun that shines in that region has been the catch-all for my sins. Perhaps the only truly intelligent action I have taken of late has been to marry Elizabeth. If you two will please excuse me, I must instruct my servants. I will be returning to my bride in the morning.”

His parents silently watched him leave, and then the Earl grabbed his Countess’s hand, pulling her over to sit on the arm of his chair. The Countess struggled briefly against him, her color rising in her cheeks in embarrassment before she relaxed and allowed herself to be so situated. She sat stiffly, only tentatively allowing herself to move her arm around her lord’s neck.

The Earl chuckled. Though he’d not tell her so, his Alicia and Lady Elizabeth were much alike. Both revealed depth only those close to them could plumb. He raised her hand to his lips, bestowing a kiss on her palm. She blushed and nestled closer.

St. Ryne pulled up his team. There was a marked change in Larchside, even from this distance. He studied the grounds and the house at the end of the long sweeping drive, a slow smile widening his mouth then leaping into his eyes. Obviously his Bess had not sat and sulked at his departure. The wide expanse of lawn had been scythed, shrubs had been trimmed, brambles uprooted, and ivy torn away from the windows allowing them to be cleaned, probably for the first time in five years. Now he was anxious to view what wonders she had wrought inside.

He urged his horses forward. He had not sent word of his imminent arrival, and his valet and groom were still an hour behind him. He was surprised when the front door flew open and a young man ran down the steps to stand stiffly, awaiting his approach. When he stopped his horses before the door, the young man bowed quickly then ran to their heads.

“Welcome home, my lord,” the young man said breathlessly. “I’m a footman here now.” He puffed himself up slightly.

St. Ryne raised his eyebrow then recognized the man as the one on the ladder in the dining room the day before his departure. He searched his brain for his name. “Thomas?” The young man’s face lit up with delight. “Thomas, do you think you could play groom to my horses for me? My